


Never Thought

by jane_potter



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Geeky, M/M, Math Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-08
Updated: 2009-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_potter/pseuds/jane_potter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony, Bruce, math and sex. Because that's what billionaire businessmen do on Saturday night in Malibu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Thought

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a getting-un-writer's-blocked prompt by lady_bathos, which was "Calculus!porn". It's not really calculus, but as my beta commands, so it shall be.

Tony Stark never thought Bruce Wayne was anything more than an idiot.

Which, of course, was perfectly okay with him. Even if he was an effete little rich boy playing at business, Tony liked Bruce for the fact that he could fly clear across the country just to pursue a casual one-liner email about a couple of billionaires getting together for some Thai in Malibu, could keep up with Tony drink for drink, could still hold a surprisingly intelligent conversation after said drinks, and could pick up supermodels with a flick of his fingers. All good past times, in Tony's book.

They kept the supermodels-- rather, Tony did, seeing as an unfortunate side-effect of Bruce being drunk was that he apparently fell asleep the second his head came within a ten-inch radius of a pillow. Tony and the girls let Bruce keep the bed, seeing as the kitchen was kinkier anyway.

The newspapers carried the story the next morning. Tony got a call around noon that ended with plans for 'next time'.

'Next time' led to a long string of 'next time's, which turned into 'the usual time'. Journalists and hangers-on alike started to pick up on the fact that Saturday night in Malibu had officially become Bruce Wayne's regular visiting hours, and that he and Tony could invariably be found somewhere in the city, to the great reward of whoever ran across them and either got an interview or an invitation home (or both).

Tony Stark never thought Bruce Wayne could possibly manage to miss so many chances to have sex, but he always did.

The constant media attention started to get annoying. Bruce turned out to be a damn fine press agent; he made none of Tony's faux pas or unfortunately ill-thought-out double-ended comments. Pepper, at least, was relieved that 'somebody other than me can handle your press statements'. To get the media off their backs one night, Bruce announced a joint project between Stark Industries and Wayne Industries, something about Bruce's assistance with the restructuring of Tony's company. Then, later on, after the fifth phone call from various board members and councilors, they realised that meant they actually had to do the project. The only reason Tony didn't smack him was because Stark Industries' stocks jumped four points the next day, heartened by the support from wildly successful Wayne Industries.

So they started to stay in, instead.

Tony Stark never thought Bruce Wayne would not care about Iron Man.

"You gotta tell me, Bruce," Tony finally said one night, over take-out pizza and the disassembled guts of a prototype hand-held tranq pistol, the tentative fusion between Wayne Industries' non-lethal focus and Stark Industries' weaponry expertise. "I'm a goddamn superhero. How do you not give a shit?"

Bruce merely smiled and said, "I'm from Gotham. We've got the fucking Batman."

Tony Stark never thought Bruce Wayne would ever in a million years be able to correct his math.

Because, at the root of their partnership, Bruce was the pretty face, the poster boy, the good reputation of his company-- and yes, he also supplied the research and development team that Tony envied just a little. He'd tried to buy off Bruce's R and D staff at least four times, and twice right in front of Bruce, but Wayne Industries apparently also fostered some damn fine company loyalty. Not even the pimple-faced kid who had won six international tech awards and a Nobel Prize by the time he was seventeen could be swayed by the promise of enough cash and supermodels to keep his raunchy teenage hormones happily exhausted for the rest of his life.

Leaning over his holo-table and surrounded by a floating sea of mathematical equations all stemming from a single line scribbled on a napkin, Tony was starting to think it was a good thing he hadn't bought out the genius kid after all.

"Bruce, your team is batshit," he snapped, raking a hand though his hair. "Total batshit crazy. Please don't touch that."

"Why? Some secret new technology you're afraid I'll steal and fabricate before Stark Industries can?"

"No, it'll blow your hand off, so on second thought, go ahead and chuck the thing around for a while. Jarvis, call Mike."

" _May I remind you that it's three AM in Gotham, sir_."

"What for?" Bruce asked, sauntering up behind Tony and peering over his shoulder. "You wake my scientist up and he'll be cranky at work the morning. Think of the people who don't spend their nights doing math and drinking six-hundred dollar whiskey from the bottle."

"His formula is entirely wrong. He's wasting my time with this formula, it's absolute gibberish." Tony finger-clicked a handful of calculations and chucked them in the trash bin. "I can't believe I just had to write out all this crap to check his math. I haven't written out equations in years. Decades. It's ridiculous."

"Preposterous, even."

"Absolutely. Fire the kid."

Bruce hummed beneath his breath and stood still behind Tony, as if he were considering it. Glancing slightly over his shoulder, Tony found Bruce's eyes narrowed at the holographic numbers, black and shiny reflecting the blue light, flickering back and forth intently. It occurred to Tony that he'd never seen Bruce study something so seriously before, but then again, Bruce barely seemed to understand a simple profit margin calculation; he had no idea what he was actually looking at, what all the numbers meant.

"No," said Bruce finally, with a small, secret smile.

"Aw, come on. Why not? It could be fun, we could have a party for him. Some booze, some girls, and he wouldn't even mind he was out of a job. It'd be great."

"No," Bruce repeated, "because there's nothing wrong with his formula."

"The hell there isn't! All my math is coming out wrong!"

"Yeah," murmured Bruce, his mouth stretching into a smirk, "because the 72nd digit of pi isn't 8, it's 6."

Tony couldn't find words; he merely stared at Bruce's outstretched finger, which pointed at a string of numbers Tony had substituted into the original formula. Almost as an afterthought, he realised how very warm Bruce's presence was, nearly spooned up to Tony's back with Bruce's arm stretched over his shoulder.

And it was. Tony Stark's math was wrong.

His mouth very dry, Tony asked hoarsely, "You know pi to the 72nd digit?"

Bruce's words were shaped sly and silky-smooth by his smile as he whispered in Tony's ear, "I know pi to the 654th digit."

"Please have sex with me right now," Tony said numbly.

He turned around and lunged, devouring Bruce's mouth before the other man could reply. Bruce surged at him without hesitation, bending Tony back over the holo-table and sending numbers flying in a spray of blue-green pixels, hands slammed down onto the table on either side of Tony's head as he ravaged Tony's mouth, his entire body working into the kiss.

"Jarvis, lock the doors," Bruce ordered, his voice coming out eerily steady even as Tony gasped for air at the kiss' break.

"Yes, good idea, lock 'em, keep 'em closed-- no scientists, no SHIELD, no Pepper. Well-- if Pepper wants to get in, tell her she's not allowed unless she's got a thing for hot raunchy mansex and wants to join, in which case it's perfectly okay."

" _Very good, sir. I'll just be going into sleep mode, if you don't mind_."

Bruce's hair was thick and clean and conditioned between Tony's fingers, grabbing and raking at the nape of his neck, clawing greedily across his scalp and twisting sleek locks of hair around his fingers, pulling Bruce close enough to hurt when their teeth ground together.

"Hot raunchy mansex?" murmured Bruce against his mouth, Tony's beard scraping his smooth-shaven chin. "Sounds like a plan, Mr Stark."

"Joint ventures are good for the stock index, Mr Wayne," Tony managed to get out, more concentrated on ripping Bruce's tie off. "Say it."

"Hm?" Bruce's tongue made its way down his jaw, searing as hot as the plasma holo-screen beneath Tony-- nearly hot enough to hurt, but sensational enough on his skin that he had to maintain the contact.

"Pi. I want to hear it... all six-hundred... and..." He hissed for breath and Bruce whipped off his tie, the silk slick against his skin, and licked a broad path across his bare throat. "...and fifty... fifty-two..."

"Three," Bruce muttered, punctuating the word with a sharp nip, "point one," bite, "four," snap, "one five," lave _hard_ with his tongue, "nine..."

Tony groaned and shoved him off, surprised at how hard it was to move Bruce, and definitely taken aback at the momentary tensing of Bruce's entire body when Tony first tried to push him, hardening and resisting for a split second before giving in to the blow.

"Tell you what," Tony said. "That's taking too long. You talk, I'll fuck you."

And Bruce's smile was thin, predatory, full of anticipation with a dark edge. "Aren't you afraid I'll stammer? Forget? Start babbling nonsense?"

"You better not," Tony shot back, "or I won't get you off. Not until I hear every-- last-- digit."

"Math really turns you on, huh?" drawled Bruce, and reclined back on the holo-table with his body all spread out and wanton easier than Tony had ever expected, even as he was going through a drawer of his workbench and coming up with the tube of body-friendly oil that he used to maintain the arc reactor.

"Shut up and calculate," Tony told him gruffly. Bruce laughed, dropped his head back against the table, holo-numbers swimming in his hair, pixels dancing across his skin and washing him with blue light as if he was one of Tony's design specs, and started to recite.

He was at thirty-two digits by the time Tony had gotten them both sufficiently naked. Sliding two oily fingers right into Bruce without preamble or warning, Tony was amazed to find that Bruce's voice didn't waver even as the sharp arch of his back betrayed his shock.

"...seven five aw _fuck_ yes one oh five eight..."

"You like it like that?"

"...four harder nine four four..."

"Sorry, didn't catch that."

"...three oh seven _harder_ goddammit eight one and make it hurt six four..."

For a moment, Tony almost didn't know if he'd heard right amid the onslaught of numbers (sixty-nine decimal places correct so far; shit, Bruce wasn't kidding), and then Bruce shot him a glare from beneath tousled dark hair, and Tony forced in another finger and Bruce's voice _cracked_ , and it was the sexiest way anybody had ever pronounced the word 'eight'.

"...one one seven _ohhhhh_..." as Tony pushed into him, the line of Bruce's throat flexing as he slammed his head back in twisting painful ecstasy and swallowed a cry that would have interrupted the numbers. Barely hanging on to the recitation, Bruce stuttered on, "S-six seven nine..."

Braced on his elbows over Bruce's prone body, buried as deep in him as he could go, Tony gasped, "Have you ever been fucked before?" as it had just occurred to him that, judging by the pythonlike grip of Bruce's body, he might have just been Bruce Wayne's first.

"...one four... s'been a while... eight... Fuck, go, _fuck_ me, oh eight, _now,_ Tony..."

Tony groaned and began to slam his hips against Bruce as hard as he could, the heave of his shoulders sending numbers flying like digital ocean spray. Bruce gritted his teeth and fisted his hands, nails scraping uselessly against the Plexiglas over the plasma holo-screens, but still he managed to finger-click a slew of programs and suddenly they were flying open in Tony's face, start-up screens and passcode boxes nearly blinding him.

"...six... five one... _fast_ , fast and hard, three... two eight two _yes_ like _that_ , three oh, fuck me Tony _harder_ yesssssix six..."

It lasted all the way until three-hundred and thirteen decimal places. Shouting nearly loud enough to drown out Bruce's litany of porn and pi, Tony grabbed a double fistful of Bruce's shirt and slammed into him one last time, spilling into Bruce and then collapsing onto him, shoulders quivering, still rocking mindlessly back and forth with the fading throb of his orgasm. Sweat dripping from his face onto Bruce's, Tony heaved for breath, gasping and sucking for air until it occurred to him, over the ringing of his ears, that Bruce was _still talking_.

Lazily, his fingers tracing idle patterns over Tony's back, Bruce recited a few more numbers and then paused. His smirk was far too self-satisfied for a man whose chest was covered in swollen red hickeys, his legs naked and spread far more flexibly than Tony had anticipated possible, his erection still pressing hard and angry against Tony's stomach.

"...six... hm." Bruce canted his head to the side, his smirk curling wide and wicked, and he asked softly, "Should I continue?"

"Oh, fuck," Tony groaned in happy disbelief, sinking down over the other man and resting his forehead against Bruce's chest. His mind spinning with a haze of orgasm and hologram glow, he noticed dimly and for the first time that there was a fucking massive scar on Bruce's chest, gaping welted and pink with new tissue nearly the span of Tony's hand. No, not one-- lots, smaller and fainter, and bruises, bruises Tony had never put there... "The fuck'd you do to yourself?"

"R and D whipped up this new military-grade ATV, amazing traction, funny transmission," muttered Bruce. "Crashed. Get me off or get off."

"Keep talking."

"Clearly you've no idea how hard it is to concentrate on listening with somebody's cock down your throat," Bruce murmured. He pushed himself up on his hands and slid to sit on the edge of the table as Tony sank to his knees. Tony rolled his eyes and was starting to say something when Bruce took a handful of his hair and guided himself into Tony's mouth, cutting off his words with a gag.

Tony glared. Bruce smirked back at him down the length of his body, long and muscular and sweaty, half dressed and debauched, his eyes hooded and smoldering. "Tough shit," he said. "I happen to like it rough, and I indulged your kink, so I suggest you deal."

'Rough' was a bit of an understatement, as far as Tony was concerned. His eyes closed, head tipped back to bare the sweat gleaming on the long line of his throat, Bruce pistoned his hips back and forth harshly, his pace unforgiving. His breathing was shallow, hips working time with the cadence of his breath, and although normally Tony could appreciate the constant tempo of a well-oiled piston, he was decidedly less appreciative as he gagged repeatedly. Bruce apparently had no care for Tony's lungs or throat, or the hair that was starting to tear from his scalp.

"Christ," Tony wheezed, when he managed to get a breath.

"If you insist on idol worship," Bruce panted, and thrust back into Tony's mouth. But he did keep counting and he hadn't missed a digit yet, so Tony found to his surprise that he didn't have a problem with getting on his knees for someone who had pi memorised past four-hundred decimal places _at least_.

As Bruce began to batter Tony's gag reflex into submission, the numbers came more and more raggedly. Now speaking through gritted teeth, Bruce's hips started to jerk erratically, his fingers curling and flexing in Tony's hair like a cat kneading its claws. Then a tremor ran through Bruce's thighs, the only warning Tony had before Bruce slammed himself all the way into his mouth, forcing Tony's face to his crotch and gasping, trembling, riding out the crest of his orgasm as he spilled into Tony's throat.

"...five..." Bruce said hoarsely, "...s-seven..."

"Shut up and collapse, goddammit," Tony rasped, wiping his mouth. He was shaking nearly as hard as Bruce, light headed from oxygen deprivation. "That was the best blowjob I've ever given, and I expect to see some afterglow, maybe a little mindless moaning."

Fluidly, more gracefully than anybody had a right to, Bruce eased himself off the edge of the holo-table and sprawled on the floor in front of Tony, body languid and boneless. His eyes were bright with release.

"It was a very good blowjob," Bruce agreed breathlessly. "Does this mean I get to stay the night?"

Tony let out a long breath that ended in a barking laugh, and together they stumbled to their feet, straightening hair and clothes.

"Sounds like a plan, Mr Wayne."

"Very good, Mr Stark."

"Are you a pillow hog?"

"I don't know," said Bruce, pulling on his pants but leaving them unsnapped, baring the smooth planes of his belly in a gesture that looked completely debauched. "It's been a very long time since someone was in a position to tell me so."

"I knew it. You missed way too many chances to fuck a supermodel, and that's just around me, so who knows what goes on in Gotham. You're gay, aren't you."

The smile Bruce gave him was unusual-- tired, yes, but also emotionally weary and somehow sad. "Not exactly," he said, "but I thought you'd understand, Tony."

Tony Stark never thought Bruce Wayne would turn out to be such an enigma.

Then again, Tony was a smart man, and it probably wouldn't be too hard for him to figure everything out sooner or later. But later. In the morning.

"What about these rumors I've heard about your shower?" Bruce asked, wandering in the direction of the bedroom. "Big enough for eight? Something about an 'adjustable' shower hose...?"

Make that next Saturday.


End file.
